


Pin Cushion

by vaguenotion



Category: Rapunzel's Tangled Adventure (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Description of Injuries, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Varian whump, it is what it says on the tin, set post-series i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:00:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24448504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaguenotion/pseuds/vaguenotion
Summary: Varian blocks an assassin from shooting Rapunzel.With his chest.
Comments: 46
Kudos: 399





	1. Chapter 1

Of all the ways to try and assassinate someone, a crossbow had to be the least efficient. 

They were impossible to conceal, heavier than they looked, and cumbersome to load. There was no point getting close to your target with one, because at some point, a knife would become more practical. And at a distance, unless it’s calibrated perfectly, there’s no guarantee that the aim will be true. 

Nevermind all the thousands of variables between the assassin and their target: the crowd of people, shifting and milling unpredictably; the wind rolling in off the ocean, fluctuating at random; the paper lanterns drifting at the end of strings, obscuring the view; and the ever-rotating guard, coordinated and trained by a infamous ex-thief. 

From where Varian stood on stage, looking out over the gathered crowd, he was aware of all these reasons why a crossbow was a terrible idea. He was also acutely aware that given all of Eugene’s security measures, a crossbow was the  _ only _ way for an assassin to hit their mark.

The rumor of a potential assassin had slithered its way into Eugene’s ear from one of his undercover guards about three days prior. Someone somewhere was not happy that Princess Rapunzel had struck a new trade agreement with Neserdnia. The opposition had something to do with an opposing political faction believing that Corona’s support strengthened the Neserdnian crown, etcetera, etcetera. Varian had a difficult time keeping all the drama from all the kingdoms straight in his mind.

And anyway, the point was that someone from that political offshoot had been talking about going after Rapunzel in order to send a message, and at the end of the day, the  _ why _ didn’t matter. People have assassinated figureheads for less, so they chose to take the threat seriously. 

Which meant they should have cancelled the opening ceremony for the new dock down in the harbor, but Rapunzel was as determined as ever to see it through. In her eyes, Corona had every right to organize trade agreements that would benefit its people, and just because some offshoot political cult didn’t like it didn’t mean they got to ruin the party for everyone else.

So instead of cancelling, security was heightened, rounds were increased, and the show went on.

Varian, for his part, had had very little to do with the whole affair clear up until the evening before. Eugene had appeared in the palace lab, bearing tidings of dark chocolate and barely-concealed stress, and asked if Varian would “please, for the love of all that is holy, just stand next to her and blow anyone up who tries to hurt my wife.”

Even when Varian had pointed out that Eugene would be on stage too, the man had insisted. So the alchemist had taken the chocolate for the bribe that it was, and had said yes.

What the hell else was he supposed to say?

And now here he stood, squirming with discomfort on a stage in front of hundreds of on-lookers, trying to stay vigilant while his stage fright did everything it could to distract him. 

To his left, Rapunzel was gesturing grandly while she spoke, her voice carrying out over the heads of those gathered. To his right, the ocean stretched to the horizon, blue and sparkling beneath the afternoon sun. Seagulls called; ship bells rang distantly; the sound of waves lapping against the support beams beneath the dock was gentle and ever-present. 

It should have been peaceful, but on Rapunzel’s other side, Eugene was anxiety made flesh, and Varian could feel it even from the distance he was at. The young alchemist took another sweep through the crowd for any signs of trouble.

As far as Varian was concerned, there were two ways to look at it. The first was to assess the crowd like it was a machine: what gears looked out of place? What mechanisms weren’t functioning the way they should? It was silly, but it made it easier for Varian to stand in front of so many people and not let the stage fright get to him. The crowd of Coronan citizens below should be looking and acting a certain way, and if something is off, it could cause the whole machine to fail. Ever familiar with inventions backfiring on him, Varian knew to find the problem before it got flammable.

The other way to approach it was less comfortable, but no less familiar: look at it the way a bad guy would. If Eugene’s undercover scouts were to be believed, then somewhere in this crowd was someone who meant Rapunzel harm. If Varian were in their shoes, what would he do?

It was an uncomfortable thing to step back into, but he was acutely aware that his temporary discomfort was not more important than Rapunzel’s safety. Taking a deep breath of sea air, Varian tucked his hands behind his back and got to work.

A crossbow was the only practical option. No one would get near the stage to rush her with a sword or knife, not with so many guards around, and certainly not with Eugene right there. Distance was the only tool left on the table. But with all the chaos of a Coronan celebration going on, how do you create the best opportunity for a clean shot?

_ A distraction, _ Varian thought, his sharp eyes sweeping back over the crowd to reassess. There was no point looking for shady figures with hoods drawn up--the guard on the ground would already be weeding suspicious people out. If Varian were the assassin, he would create a problem and draw attention somewhere out of the way, opening up his range of view and…

Something caught Varian’s eye. Across the crowd in front of Eugene, a pair of gardening sheers lifted up over a woman’s hat, the metal glinting in the sunlight. They were yards from the stage, absolutely not a threat. As Varian watched, the sheers closed around the strings that held a bunch of lanterns aloft, setting the celebratory kites free. The woman who had been holding them turned abruptly, confusion giving way to upset as she realized someone had just released her lanterns.

A man’s voice called out that she was blocking his view. She began to argue back. Before Varian’s eyes, the argument grew more obvious, expanding like a ripple in a pond as people around them began to choose sides and shove gently at one another.

Eugene stepped forward, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. With a single gesture, several guards broke from their posts and began to wade into the crowd to break it up. All eyes were turning toward the conflict.

All eyes except Varian’s. Was it really so quick, that he should find the distraction just as he was planning it in his mind? With his heart rate rising, Varian turned his attention in the opposite direction of the growing argument. Out across the crowd, far in the back, up on a loading platform-- 

There, a glint, a single person crouched behind a stack of crates, something metal in front of him-- 

The guards were all looking at the fight now, even Eugene, even Rapunzel, while-- was Varian seeing things? Was he just getting caught up in his own hypothetical planning? But there was another glint, obvious movement near the crates, and even if the man was far away, even if Varian couldn’t see details--if he were the one out to assassinate the princess,  _ that’s how he’d do it-- _

Varian abruptly stepped to his left, lifting his arms as he did so, stepping between Rapunzel and--and what, some crates? A glint?-- And then something punched into his chest, and the air flattened out of his lungs, and he was shoved backward into the princess.

Rapunzel caught him, but only barely, startled as she was by his sudden appearance between her and the crowd. Varian was vaguely aware of her saying his name, of the sound of people crying out and backing away from the stage. He could see the crowd break into chaos, moving every which way to get out of the plaza, as Rapunzel eased Varian onto his back on the stage, and then she was gone, pulled away by Eugene, off the stage, out of the line of fire.

For a moment, Varian just lay there, staring up at a white cloud as it drifted peacefully by overhead. He was having trouble taking a breath. What had hit him? It had felt like getting punched, and for a dumb, beautiful moment, he’d wondered if the projectile had been dulled at the end. Maybe those political separatists in Neserdnia were pacifists. Maybe it was only meant to send a message, not to kill.

He lifted his head, and was surprised to see the crossbow bolt sticking out of him. Confused, slow to process what he was seeing, Varian reached with his right hand and carefully pressed his fingers to the bolt. It didn’t budge, but the slight movement sent a jolt of pain through his shoulder and chest.

The pain lingered, and grew. Varian dropped his head back against the stage with a thunk and found the cloud again, but this time, he wasn’t really seeing it. His hand was wrapped around the bolt lodged in his chest.

He had to move. Someone was trying to assassinate--not him, Rapunzel, but--but what if they shot again? He was still right in the way, wasn’t he? Where was Rapunzel--

_ “Varian--” _

Eugene folded over him, blocking the cloud from his unseeing eyes. The man grabbed Varian by the vest and hauled him across the stage, sliding him clear off the back of it into someone’s arms--two someones, Stan and Pete. Eugene was barking orders, almost emotionless in his ruthless efficiency, his anxiety from before hardened into the drive for action, and Varian was being carried somewhere, and--was anyone else having trouble breathing? Where was Rapunzel?

The sky vanished--he was being carried inside. The two guards set him down directly on the hardwood floor, and a woman shoved them aside, kneeling over him. She pried his bloody fingers off of the crossbow bolt and told Stan to hold his arm down, because Varian reached for it again, because  _ you don’t understand, I have to hold it still, or else-- _

“Where’s Rapunzel,” Varian asked, his voice numb in his ears. “Is she okay?”

“I’m fine, Varian,” the woman above him said, her face swimming into clarity for a moment, and there she was, Rapunzel, right in front of him. She looked up at someone Varian couldn’t see. “He’s in shock. Elevate his feet and get me a blanket. Where’s the doctor?”

“On her way,” someone answered, “she’ll be here any minute, we had her stationed in the plaza just in case.”

“Varian, look at me,” the woman--Rapunzel?--said, leaning directly in front of him again. “Keep breathing, okay? In, and out.” She took a few slow breaths to guide him through it, but his lungs weren’t filling up like they were supposed to. His breaths were short, shallow, faster and faster, and the pain was starting to sink in, ribbons of it stretching away from the bolt, down through his chest, his diaphragm tightening, his back cramping with the effort to breathe--

“Breathe, Varian,” Rapunzel pleaded, only a few degrees south of measured, too much fear in her voice to be masked, and Varian looked at her and thought--

He looked up at her and thought--

-

“Keep your finger on his pulse,” the doctor was saying, her words a smear of sound in Rapunzel’s ears, barely audible over her own pounding heart. Varian was gasping now like a fish pulled from water, small rasping hiccups that weren’t enough, no matter how hard he was clearly struggling to get air. Rapunzel kept her fingers pressed just behind the corner of his jaw, feeling the rapid flutter of his pulse, faster even than her own.

The doctor was leaning over him. She had just removed the bolt, something that she had neglected to do for an agonizingly long amount of time. When she’d finally assessed the state the alchemist was in, she had simply said, “His lung will collapse when I remove it. Hold him steady, your majesty.”

Rapunzel had not had time to process the statement, but it hardly mattered--she had no counter argument, and she knew better than to get in the doctor’s way. The woman had more experience than anyone in Corona, and her cool head and steady voice kept Rapunzel’s mouth shut, even when her words were as horrifying as ‘collapsed lung’.

Sure enough, when she’d removed the bolt (and there was a sound Rapunzel would hear in her worst nightmares) Varian had gone from rasping half-breaths to rapid hiccups. The doctor had withdrawn a thin tube from her bag, and had unsheathed a knife, so sharp it startled Rapunzel to see. Without wasting a moment, the woman rolled Varian partially onto his side, instructing Rapunzel and Eugene to hold him steady. Just around the curve of Varian’s chest, almost to his back, the woman smoothed her hand over the alchemist’s freckled skin and touched the tip of the knife to a specific spot.

Eugene offered an aborted protest. The doctor angled the tip of the knife between two of Varian’s ribs, carefully taking aim. Rapunzel kept her gaze firmly on her friend’s bare, shuttering chest. A thin trail of blood rolled away from the wound where the bolt had just been.

“Easy there, lad,” the doctor said quietly, ensuring that the knife was at just the right angle. “You’re alright.”

Then she’d punched the blade into his chest, a quick and emotionless push. As quickly as it had gone in--sinking far too deep for Rapunzel’s liking, but surely it was for a reason, surely it was helpful--the knife was removed, and the doctor was spreading the inch-long wound with two gloved fingers and feeding the slim tube she’d prepared inside, and just as Rapunzel was about to lose her nerve, just as a rush of nausea swelled and threatened to overwhelm her--

Varian inhaled, sharp and deep and audible, a half breath of air. It was immediately followed by another deeper breath, and they kept coming, greedily sucking down all the air he could get. Suddenly, his breathing sounded normal again, and he coughed a few times, moaning. In between rasps, she could hear air escaping through the small tube in his side.

“Oh my god,” Rapunzel gasped, releasing a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding, her palm pressing against the side of his face. “Varian!”

He said nothing, but those crystal blue eyes found her’s through his bangs, plastered to his forehead with sweat. There was recognition in his gaze, alongside the fatigue and pain. 

“The air that was collapsing his lung has to be fully released,” the doctor said, her tone as neutral and commanding as it had been from the moment she’d arrived. “The tube will have to stay in. We need to get him to the surgical theater in the palace immediately.”

Rapunzel set her jaw and nodded. “The cart is ready. Max is the fastest horse in the kingdom.”

“Good. Lift him all together, on three,” the doctor instructed, not missing even a moment for sentimentality. In a quick and orderly shuffle, Rapunzel, Eugene, the doctor, and a guard stooped around Varian and carefully lifted him away from the floor. The shirt and vest that they’d cut off lay in scraps where he’d been, bloodied and forgotten. 

It could have been her dress on the floor. It could have been her lung collapsing, the knife sliding between her own ribs, the fluttering pulse and hiccuping breaths her own, if only she had--

_ Stop. _ Varian was dying in her hands. The guilt could wait. 

-

Eugene held the crossbow bolt in one hand, testing its weight. In the quiet of the infirmary, he had all the time in the world to sit and think. It was torture, and he deserved it.

It was his fault Varian was lying in the bed beside him, his chest cocooned in bandages. The smell of poultices and medicine and cleaning agents was overwhelming, but Eugene had been getting used to them the longer he sat watch.

He was relieved that Varian had been shot, and not Rapunzel. It was the ugliest, most wretched thing he had ever thought, but somewhere deep down, he knew it was true. 

He desperately wished it had been him who had taken the bolt. Was that selfish? Was it easier to think that after the fact? Varian had nearly died. Varian  _ still _ might die, if either puncture wound got infected. He had put his life between Rapunzel and an assassin. Was Eugene a monster for even thinking  _ it should have been me? _ Was it preformative?

Varian was as much a brother as Lance. He had grown on Eugene in a way that few ever had, this insufferable, talkative, brilliant young man who dished insults back with ease and never, ever failed to show up when Eugene needed him to. It’s why he had asked Varian to be on that stage the day before. If anyone was going to give Eugene some peace of mind, it’d be Varian.

And look what had happened.

Rapunzel could have died. She was alive and well and in one breathing piece because of Varian. If Varian didn’t pull through, how was he supposed to live with himself?

_ Selfish, _ something hissed in the back of his mind, venomous and cruel. He shouldn’t be worrying about his own guilt, or Rapunzel, or anything else. What was the matter with him?

From the bed, Varian moaned thinly, a reedy little sound that jolted Eugene from his thoughts. The man was up in an instant, already reaching for the glass of water that sat beside the bed.

Varian had been in and out of it for a few hours now, always indicating that he needed water. Sometimes, he was more lucid than others, managing a few words or a question. Eugene leaned over the bed and carefully slid his hand behind Varian’s neck to help lift him part way to the glass.

Whatever drugs they had given him for surgery were taking their sweet time to wear off, and maybe it was a good thing. Varian looked terrible, pale and shadowed with lips tinged slightly blue. He took a few sips of water before Eugene settled his head back on the pillow and set the glass down again.

“Still me,” Eugene said softly. “How you feelin’, kid?”

Varian swallowed carefully and opened his eyes. The blue was dull and unfocused. “Do you have it,” he asked quietly.

Despite himself, Eugene forced a small grin onto his face. “Yhep. Had to send a few men to retrieve it.”

He held the crossbow bolt aloft for Varian to see. The young man lifted his hand a few inches off of the bed beside where he lay, and Eugene obliged, passing the bolt into his slow, weak fingers. 

Varian regarded it with more curiosity than it deserved and less emotional weight than it needed. Eugene watched silently as the alchemist considered the thing that had laid him so low, that may yet be the instigator of his death.

“Cool,” Varian said quietly. 

Eugene’s laugh was sudden, pressure being released after a long buildup. “Cool? You’re looking at the crossbow bolt that nearly pierced your heart, and it’s ‘cool’?”

“I should use it to--” Varian began, pausing to catch his breath mid-sentence, “to hang my goggles at night. By my-- bed.”

“... You want to use it as a hook to hang a hat on.”

“My goggles.”

The laugh was back, this time so fond that the rush of warmth and brotherly love actually startled Eugene. “Yeah, okay. I don’t know why I’ve been worrying about you, you’re fine.”

“Did you get the assassin,” Varian asked quietly, skipping right over the moment. Eugene took a breath to ground himself.

“Yes. Ugly guy, really wonky head shape. Kept ranting about how the Neserdnian crown had to fall.”

“Sounds fun at parties,” Varian murmured, strength already beginning to fade from his voice. His eyelids drooped--the drug was coming back to pull him under again, or maybe he’d only been holding on to ask about the assassin, and now that he could relax, he was going to relax all the way back to sleep.

Eugene took a deep breath, feeling momentarily grounded. As much as he didn’t want to see Rapunzel in such a position, he didn’t want to see Varian lying there either. On impulse, he reached forward and smoothed Varian’s hair back, feeling the feverish warmth of the alchemist’s forehead.

Varian was asleep before Eugene could retract his hand. 

“Hang in there, kid,” he said quietly, his gaze drifting uneasily to the crossbow bolt, which rested in Varian’s limp, open hand. “We need you.”


	2. Chapter 2

Whatever sleeping drought they had given him, it was at war with Varian’s internal clock.

He had no sense of time when he was asleep. One moment he was resting his eyes while Eugene stood over him, and the next it was late morning, dust modes filtering through the sunshine beside his infirmary bed. Another blink, and it was evening, Rapunzel reading aloud from an astronomy text, droning on about Orion’s belt and the North Star, with no Eugene in sight.

For the first two days, he slept through each visit by the doctors that came around. It wasn’t intentional--he seemed to have no control over his consciousness, and in the fleeting moments that he did surface into the waking world, it was usually a friend beside his bed, holding vigil. 

So when he was awoken on the third day by someone prying his eyelids open one at time and shining a light into them, he genuinely believed it was a familiar face.

“‘Punzel, stop,” he murmured sleepily, frowning and trying to roll his head away. 

“Ah,” an unfamiliar voice hummed. “He lives.”

Varian blinked in slow repetition until his vision began to clear. Above him, an older woman in a crisp white doctor’s coat was standing with a satisfied look on her face. At his open confusion, her smile grew.

“I am Dr Penrose,” the woman announced. “I pulled that bolt out of your chest the other day.”

She pointed down to Varian’s side. He frowned, his fingers unconsciously curling around the bolt a little tighter. The woman raised an eyebrow at him.

“You’ve been holding onto the damned thing like a security blanket since the Captain gave it to you,” Dr Penrose said, in much the same tone that one might observe the weather. “Odd little thing, aren’t you?”

“Where’s Rapunzel,” Varian rasped, rolling his head to try and peer around the woman, as if perhaps he would find Rapunzel standing there. 

“The princess has been in talks with the Counsel of Seven and our Neserdnian diplomats for the last two days. Between you and I, you’re better off stuck in a hospital bed.” 

As the woman spoke, her hands moved with quick and easy efficiency. She folded the blanket down to Varian’s waist and set about removing the large square of gauze taped to his chest. He tightened his grip around the bolt again, moving his eyes up to the vaulted ceiling. 

For a few moments while the doctor examined the wound on his chest, neither of them spoke. It wasn’t until she peeled back the second patch of gauze to check the other puncture wound that Varian’s nerves got the better of him.

“Is it bad,” he asked softly, his voice hardly more than a whisper. Dr Penrose took a slow, steady breath. 

“On the contrary,” she answered, not pausing in her examination of his stitches. “I don’t see any signs of overt infection. The temperature you have is reasonable too, given the shock your body went through. Cautiously, I think you’re healing just fine. We’ll have to stay vigilant so that doesn’t change.”

Varian regarded her out of the corner of his eye as she worked. Her words, positive though they were, did little to ease the mounting discomfort he was feeling. After another pause, he rolled his head away from her and tried to focus on the weight of the crossbow bolt in his hand. 

Beneath the blanket of medicated exhaustion, Varian was starting to put a name to the unease in his gut. It was guilt, he knew, but also anger. Not just anger at the nameless, faceless man who had shot him--anger at Eugene, anger at Rapunzel, anger at having been put in this position. It wasn’t logical, but it was there regardless.

And as was usually the case with Varian, the anger led directly to guilt. Why was he mad at his friends for the actions of some stranger? He was aware of the risks that came with being on that stage, and still agreed to help. He stepped in front of Rapunzel on purpose. It had been a choice.

The part of Varian that had been able to predict the assassin’s behavior was the same part that was haunting him now. The anger only proved it, didn’t it? After everything he had been through, he hadn’t learned anything after all. He could still see the steps in an evil scheme as naturally as ever, and was still feeling misplaced anger toward people who weren’t at fault.

The crossbow bolt in his hand had laid him bare. It had stripped away all the layers of growth and optimism he’d wrapped around himself in the last few years, and what was at the core was still the bitter, violent person he’d been. 

Right...?

“Dr Penrose,” he asked, the mousiness of his own voice surprising him. The woman hummed a single note to indicate she was listening. 

“Do you… Know what I did a few years ago?”

“With the automatons?”

She said it so simply, so matter-of-fact, that Varian felt a rush of panic shoot through him. Nothing about her demeanor changed, the air of casual indifference as unshaken as before. He flinched, and then winced, the small movement pulling painfully at his tender chest.

“Uh…” Varian’s tense voice, already quiet, dropped to a whisper. “Yeah.”

“Yes,” the doctor answered easily. “You have a brilliant mind. A little misplaced at the time, but that was long ago.”

Varian stared at her as she went about pressing fresh gauze to his dual injuries. He held his tongue for a moment, too afraid of what the answer might be. 

Still, what was better: asking a relative stranger, or spiraling into a panic attack with two holes in his chest?

“What if… it’s not?” he voice, speaking before he could talk himself down from doing so. “Not completely, anyway.”

Finally, Dr Penrose lifted her gaze, peering at him over the half-moon spectacles that sat low on her nose. Her hands had paused in the midst of her work, and hovered over his chest for only a moment before she resumed her task. “How do you mean?”

_ Well, _ Varian thought,  _ I’ve opened the door. Might as well walk through. _

“On the stage, I...” he began, and then paused, hesitation momentarily catching hold of him again. He swallowed thickly. “I tried to think like the assassin. What would I do, how would I make a distraction, where would I shoot from. And I got it right  _ immediately _ .”

Dr Penrose taped off the second piece of gauze and turned toward the small cart beside the bed, selecting one of several small glass bottles and a spoon. “And?”

Varian frowned, something like frustration flickering to life in his chest. “It’s-- don’t you get it? It came so naturally to me to figure out how to kill the princess. After  _ everything _ , it’s still second nature to be the villain.”

The doctor siphoned off a small dose of the medicine from the bottle she’d chosen and turned with the loaded spoon toward the bed. Without a word, while Varian’s confession hung between them, she carefully lifted his head and held the spoon to his lips. He downed it without question, his face immediately pulling into a grimace at the taste. 

“There is a difference,” Dr Penrose said after a long moment of consideration, “between perspective and intention. From the sound of it, you knew where to look for the danger, and you did so in order to save Princess Rapunzel’s life.”

“Well of course I did,” Varian answered quickly, smacking his lips to try and get the awful taste out of his mouth. “She’s one of my best friends. But that’s not the point.”

“No,” the doctor agreed, lifting a pitcher and filling a glass with water. “I suppose it isn’t. You’re afraid that you are still the troubled young man you were back then?”

“I’m--” Varian faltered, his mouth closing shut before he could say anything he didn’t mean. He frowned into the middle distance until Dr Penrose lifted his head once again to help him drink. Grateful for a moment to collect his thoughts, he allowed it. Once she rested his head back on the pillow, he took a slow, stiff breath. 

“What if that’s my default,” he asked quietly, staring up at the ceiling. Voicing the fear made it real, somehow, and the sudden urge to cry overwhelmed his exhausted, drug-addled mind. He was quick to try and force the feeling down, but not before tears misted his eyelashes.

Dr Penrose regarded him for a moment before making a clicking sound with her tongue and leaning into his line of sight. She wore a disapproving frown.

“Young man,” she said sternly, “people do not have a ‘default’. They have habits, and choices. You just took an arrow for the princess of Corona, and are now lying in an infirmary bed worrying that you are a bad person. Neither of which are pastimes generally practiced by the criminally-minded.”

Varian blinked up at her, startled by her tone. Dr Penrose continued. “Now I am warning you, if you start to cry, it will strain your stitches. I shouldn’t have to remind you that you have  _ two _ puncture wounds in your chest. If you don’t snap out of it, I will give you more sleeping drought.”

The declaration was resolutely baffling. So caught off guard by her bluntness, Varian all but forgot about the rush of tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. Dr Penrose straightened her back and took a deep breath, planting her hands on her hips. 

“I don’t pretend to know why you have been holding onto that arrow since it was given to you, and I am not a sentimental woman. But if you ever need proof that you’re a good person? That bolt should be more than enough.”

The doctor regarded him with a look of warning, almost daring him to provide a counter argument. He had none. Wearily, Varian felt his mouth pull into a smile. 

“Good,” Dr Penrose decided upon seeing his expression. “Now go to sleep. Lord knows you’re not doing yourself any favors by lying awake worrying.”

And with that, she turned and left. Varian gazed at the vacant spot she had left behind, her words echoing in his head. Slowly, he looked downward, lifting the crossbow bolt into his view. 

In the clean light of the infirmary, it glinted back at him.

-

Varian was peering at his two companions over his cards, an eyebrow raised disapprovingly. “You two are ruining this game of Queen’s Cup.”

Both Rapunzel and Eugene turned their too-big grins his way. “What?” Rapunzel asked, laughing. “What are you talking about? We’re having fun!”

“You’re having too  _ much _ fun. Rapunzel, you hate this game, and Eugene, you hate losing. You’re both letting me win.”

Eugene blew a loud raspberry. “Ha! Letting you win? I think not!”

“Varian, silly, we’re just playing a game,” Rapunzel insisted.

Varian stared at them both with an unflinchingly flat expression. After a steady pause in which they both refused to stop smiling, Rapunzel finally heaved a sigh. 

“Okay,  _ fine. _ Maybe… maybe we should talk about what happened.” She set her hand down in front of her where she sat cross-legged at the foot of his bed. The infirmary was a soft bustle of noise beyond the privacy screen around Varian’s bed, and it felt like anything they talked about would stay hidden.

Eugene shifted uncomfortably. “Varian’s a hero and should be knighted! Story done?”

“Story not done,” Varian replied flatly. “You two are acting so awkward it’s actually making my pain  _ worse. _ ”

Rapunzel wrung her hands in her lap quietly. “Varian,” she started, a sincerity in her tone that she was finally relenting to. Eugene leaned forward abruptly. 

“Why does it need to be a heavy thing? It all worked out, right?” The man was still grinning, his shoulders pulled into a shrug to hide how tension was already hiking them up around his ears. 

Rapunzel gave her husband a warning look. “Varian is lying in a hospital bed right in front of us, Eugene. I’d hardly call that a ‘win-win’.”

The ex-thief looked back and forth between the princess and the alchemist for a moment, trying and failing to find an argument that might ward off the impending conversation, but the closer he looked at each of them, the more he realized it was inevitable. With a sigh, he folded his own hand of cards and set them down on the bed beside where Varian was propped up in a sitting position.

“Alright,” Eugene sighed, “then… I’ll start. I, uh. Won’t ever be able to thank you for what you did, Varian,” he said, his tone a fine line between awkward and sincere. “But I should never have asked you to be on that stage. You almost died, because of me.”

“I was the intended target,” Rapunzel countered. “I was supposed to be the one who got shot. If I hadn’t insisted on going through with the opening ceremony, this wouldn’t have happened. The fault is mine.”

Varian’s gaze had dropped to his hands, which rested in his lap. His fingers tangled and untangled slowly. “I don’t think either of you are at fault,” he said quietly, not looking up at them. “Neither of you shot me. But…”

He trailed off, his gaze moving to his left. The crossbow bolt rested beside him. After a pause, he reached over and wrapped his fingers around it. 

“I’m still angry with you guys, I think,” he admitted quietly. He wasn’t sure what he expected, but neither of them jumped to accusations and anger. Both Rapunzel and Eugene sat in solemn silence, allowing his words to sink in. Varian turned the bolt over in his hands, not looking away from it. “I know it’s not fair. It’s not based in logic, but I still feel angry. And I think, because I don’t know the guy who shot me, it’s easier to direct that anger at you guys? And I… feel really bad, that I feel that way.”

“You shouldn’t,” Rapunzel said quietly. Varian could sense her leaning forward, but didn’t look up until her hand rested gently on top of his. “I’ve been feeling angry too. At myself, mostly. I think we want to make sense of the things that happen to us, and to the people we love. We want there to be a reason. And if there  _ isn’t _ one, or the reason doesn’t make sense to us, we get angry. Because it’s not fair.”

Cautiously, Varian lifted his full attention up to Rapunzel. She reached forward with her other hand and cupped both of his hands in her’s, the bolt held in the middle. “It’s not fair that you got hurt, Varian. It wasn’t fair for that man to act the way he did, and it wasn’t fair for me to ignore the risk.”

“And it wasn’t fair of me to put you in that position,” Eugene said, leaning his elbows onto the edge of the bed and crossing his arms. “I trust you with my life, kiddo, but I shouldn’t have asked you to put yours on the line like that.”

“Well, I’m--” Varian started, rushing to counter the notion. “No, I don’t regret… I mean, I don’t want  _ you _ to have been shot,” he insisted, looking toward Rapunzel with mild panic in his eyes. “I didn’t mean--”

“We know,” Rapunzel said softly. “Feelings aren’t facts, Varian. If you’re angry, be angry. If you need space from us, we understand.”

The panic surged further up into his chest. “I don’t want you guys to go away. I just… I don’t want to feel angry.”

Varian’s voice had halved in volume, his eyes dropping back to the bolt in his hands. His words grew thick with the threat of tears. “I don’t exactly have a great track record with it,” he murmured, guilt climbing up alongside the directionless anger in his chest. He felt Rapunzel’s hands tighten around his, if only just a little. 

Varian took as deep a breath as his stiff rib cage would allow. For a moment, he closed his eyes, and tried to center himself. When he opened them, he was looking directly at the bolt. 

_ If you ever need proof that you’re a good person, _ Dr Penrose had said. 

Varian lifted his gaze up to meet Rapunzel’s. Through the sadness in her eyes, through the guilt and concern, something warm and genuine and steady looked back at him. Finding reassurance there, Varian exhaled carefully and retracted one of his hands from Rapunzel’s embrace. Cautiously, he smoothed his fingers over the thin fabric of his hospital tunic, feeling the gauze beneath, and the tender wound beneath that.

He wasn’t sure what to say, and it was quickly becoming clear that none of them did. Somewhere else in the infirmary, on the other side of his privacy screen, laughter interrupted the quiet chatter in the room. Almost immediately, the vulnerable moment between the trio came to an end. 

“I’ll tell you what, though,” Eugene said, offering Varian a grin. “We can take full advantage of this hero status once you’re out of here. Paying for stuff? A thing of the past.”

Varian’s own expression pulled into a watery smile, the slightest edge of humor pulling at his eyebrows. “Was paying for things  _ ever _ a part of your past?”

Eugene lifted a finger. “This is beside the point.”

“Stop trying to capitalize on Varian’s heroism,” Rapunzel warned fondly. 

“We can sell replica crossbow bolts,” Eugene said, ignoring his wife. He fanned his hands out in front of him in a rainbow, hamming it up as he spoke. “And novelty goggles, I bet lots of people will buy into that fashion trend. This is the start of something big, Varian.”

Eugene and Rapunzel carried on, offering up and shooting down ideas with familiar speed. Varian sat quietly, enjoying their company but only half listening.

He was angry, but Rapunzel was right--it was being directed at the easiest target, but that didn’t mean it spoke of any deeper resentments. It would be a while, he knew, before he worked out how he felt about what had happened. It’d be longer still before he knew how to express and explain those feelings to others. But Rapunzel and Eugene had both understood his anger. More than that, they had just created a space for him to feel it without it chasing them away. 

In his hands, the crossbow bolt felt lighter than before, somehow. It was familiar in his grasp now, a steady reminder of what had happened. Not what the world had done to him, but what he had done to the world. The bolt was all the proof that Varian needed to know that he was bigger than his past, wasn’t it? 

The thought settled peacefully in his chest, and in the midst of Rapunzel and Eugene’s playful banter, Varian smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thems the beans. Thanks for reading this edition of The Adventures of Emotional Baggage Boy!


End file.
